Sarah lay down on her back to snuggle with the dog that stretched out beside her. She liked the soft, warm feel of Santanas’s fur, in much the same way she liked to close her eyes and listen to her father’s voice. “She tried to fool you,” Sarah reminded him. “You don’t like it when people try to fool you.”

“To her way of thinking, she was doing her job.”

With one hand on the dog’s neck, Sarah looked up at her father with big, dark eyes so much like his own. “You never talk to reporters.”

“They don’t interest me.” Hunter came upon a pair of jeans with a widening hole in the knee. “Aren’t these new?”

“Sort of. So why are you taking her camping with you?”

“Sort of new shouldn’t have holes already, and I’m not taking her, she’s coming with me.”

Digging in her pocket, she came up with a stick of gum. She wasn’t supposed to chew any because of her braces, so she fondled the wrapped piece instead. In six months, Sarah thought, she was going to chew a dozen pieces, all at once. “Because she’s a reporter or because she has a rare, classic beauty?”

Hunter glanced down to see his daughter’s eyes laughing at him. She was entirely too clever, he decided, and threw a pair of rolled socks at her. “Both, but mostly because I find her interesting and talented. I want to see how much I can find out about her, while she’s trying to find out about me.”

“You’ll find out more,” Sarah declared, idly tossing the socks up in the air. “You always do. I think it’s a good idea,” she added after a moment. “Aunt Bonnie says you don’t see enough women, especially women who challenge your mind.”

“Aunt Bonnie thinks in couples.”

“Maybe she’ll incite your simmering passion.”

Hunter’s hand paused on its way to the basket. “What?”

“I read it in a book.” Expertly, she rolled so that her feet touched the floor behind her head. “This man met this woman, and they didn’t like each other at first, but there was this strong physical attraction and this growing desire, and—”

“I get the picture.” Hunter looked down at the slim, dark-haired girl on the floor. She was his daughter, he thought. She was ten. How in God’s name had they gotten involved in the subject of passion? “You of all people should know that things don’t often happen in real life the way they do in books.”

“Fiction’s based on reality.” Sarah grinned, pleased to throw one of his own quotes back at him. “But before you do fall in love with her, or have too much simmering passion, I want to meet her.”